


i have never believed in you, no (but i'm gonna pray)

by JaeRianL



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Angst and Feels, Crisis of Faith, F/M, Hospitals, Loss of Faith, Major Character Injury, Prayer, Religion, Season/Series 02, Unrequited Crush, Unrequited Leo Fitz/Bobbi Morse, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-01
Updated: 2021-02-01
Packaged: 2021-03-12 16:54:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,310
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29138877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JaeRianL/pseuds/JaeRianL
Summary: The waiting room is a hellish place to be, waiting to be told if someone you love will make it through. Maybe that's why Fitz is praying for the first time in a decade.
Relationships: Lance Hunter/Bobbi Morse, Leo Fitz & Bobbi Morse
Comments: 6
Kudos: 6





	i have never believed in you, no (but i'm gonna pray)

**Author's Note:**

> This is for the Quakerider Writer's Guild's Valentine's Day Challenge! I was prompted the Passion flower, which symbolises Faith! This was supposed to be a fluffy romantic fic, but then this came to mind and all of a sudden I had to make it angsty.
> 
> While it's not made explicit in the fic, Fitz was raised Roman Catholic but is no longer a practising Catholic.

It’s strange, being in an actual hospital again, not the shambles that is SHIELD’s medical department. He hadn’t been in one, well, since his own injury at the hands of Ward, and now here he is, waiting with his team to find out if Bobbi would make it. Pulling his gaze away from his hands, fingers trembling like they hadn’t done in months, Fitz takes a moment to properly look at his team, and what a right state they all look. Coulson’s outside the family room, pacing back and forth on the phone with someone, probably Bobbi’s mum if the slightly terrified look on his face is anything to go by; the complete antithesis of Mack, the man frozen in his seat, face void of any emotions, silently staring at the ground. Skye’s clinging to May as best as one could cling to her, Jemma’s doing her utmost best to remain composed and Hunter’s hands are still bright red. 

It’s a slippery slope from there, because once Fitz notices the vibrant blood stains he’s pulled back to when they’d found her, Hunter cradling her limp body, blood spattered across his face as he begs her to stay awake, crying out for a medic. The heartbroken admissions of Hunter’s love and his grief and his dreams for them ring through his mind, screaming at him about all the things Fitz will never be lucky enough to have. He can’t see if the blood is still there, can’t see if the scarlet droplets have settled onto Hunter’s skin or been scrubbed away, but quite frankly he doesn’t know if he could stomach seeing them at this very moment. To be fair, he knows he can’t look any better himself, the tear tracks having hardened, leaving rough salt in their wake, but it’s not like he can see himself.

As the seconds pass, and the doctors take longer to arrive and confirm she’s okay, that she’s going to be fine, Fitz feels himself get more and more worked up. If only there was something he could do, some stupid gadget he could magic up out of thin air and throw at her surgeons in the hopes of speeding up the surgery and her recovery process, something to make him feel like this wasn’t his fault. Because maybe if his brain had worked a little faster, if he hadn’t been so much of a hazard, then maybe she wouldn’t have taken a bullet meant for someone else, maybe the woman he… who he is fond of at the very least wouldn’t be fighting for hers. He nearly jumps out of his skin when he feels someone lay their hand on his shoulder, and when he turns and sees the crimson tinged fingernails of one Lance Hunter, only manages to hear static coming from the older man’s mouth, he knows he has to get out of there.

It’s almost like he’s on autopilot, speeding through the unfamiliar hospital with no clear direction and no thought of anyone else; just him and the sirens ringing in his ears screaming at him to leave now. As he steps into the lift, thankfully empty due to how early in the morning it is, he presses the button to the basement floor, leaning against the cool metal walls of the elevator, trying to catch his breath. Only once does someone enter the lift with him, an older looking nurse, who once he sees the floor Fitz has chosen to go to, sends him a look of concern and a wry smile, staying silent as they wait for their floor to arrive. When the doors give way on the basement floor, Fitz follows the signage directing him on where to go, his heart beating out of his chest as he steps closer.

Stepping foot into the prayer room, Fitz has to brace himself against one of the chairs as his legs go weak. The last time he was in a hospital prayer room, the last time he’d stepped foot on any religious grounds for that matter, had to be when his mum had been taken ill when he was seventeen and not long started at the Academy. He’d flown back to Glasgow in a tizzy, barely telling his supervisor that he needed to leave before heading to the airport, and when he’d spoken with the doctors, when they’d told him his mother’s prognosis, he’d stayed with her throughout her final hours, watching on as the infectious spark in her eyes slowly faded away. When the realisation of his worst fear came to life had hit home the moment they covered her body with that stark white sheet, he’d ran to the prayer room, prayed to a God he couldn’t believe in that she would make it to heaven, because she deserved that chance for Christ’s sake.

But being stuck in the past would do neither him nor Bobbi any good, not when she’s fighting for her life upstairs. Forcing himself to stand straight, to not turn and run, he walks down the pews, taking a seat on the front row of chairs, staring at the stained glass windows around him. He takes some steadying breaths, craning his head around to make sure no one is nearby before he hangs his head low, clasping his palms so tightly that his knuckles start to turn white

“Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name.” He stumbles over the words, his mouth dry and his tongue heavy as he tries to recite it from memory. “Thy kingdom come, thy will be done, on earth, as it is in heaven. Give us this day our daily bread and forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us; and lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil. Amen.”

He sighs shakily, clearing his throat and blinking rapidly in an attempt to stave off the tears.

“Look, I honestly haven’t a clue whether you exist, whether heaven exists, or if religion is even real. And I shan’t sit here and act like I’m a good Catholic, I haven't prayed in a decade, among other things. But Bobbi, she’s a good person. Someone worthy of staying alive. My feelings for her aside, my biases aside, she is not only a good person, but she has faced so much crap, from you, from fate, from whatever it is that that determines life in this universe, and for once could you just give her a fucking break? You deemed me worthy of surviving the bottom of the ocean, and I am not nearly as worthy as she is, so please, please. Let her live.”

His pleas trails off as his breathing picks up, and Fitz paces along the pew as he tries his utmost best not to fall apart at the seams. Shaking his hands vigorously as he tries to divert his mind from the rabbit hole it’s falling down, Fitz stares up at the ceiling, mentally pleading for any god to pick up on his prayers. When his usual tactic of reciting the periodic table backwards fails to calm him down, he soon takes to the approach of repeating prayers, forcing himself to instead think of scripture he hasn’t actively read since his adolescence. By some miracle, this rapid breathing soon starts to even out, and he doesn’t feel as though he’s going to choke to death any second now, alone in a prayer room.

Rather than slumping down on the seats, exhaustion thrumming under his skin, he continues to pace, muttering one last prayer under his breath, pausing momentarily to stare at the rainbow light painting the chairs. Taking a steadying breath, he makes his way out of the prayer room, pulling his phone out of his pocket to see one text message on his notifications page.

**Jemma:** It’s Bobbi.

**Author's Note:**

> Be gentle with me, this is my first attempt at angst in five years, and so it isn't super angsty but it's definitely not my usual fluff either!
> 
> Anyhow, I hope you all enjoyed! Let me know what you thought & come find me on [ Tumblr](https://acetoshikosato.tumblr.com/)! Thanks for reading!!
> 
> Jae <3


End file.
